The last glow of muggle street lamps surrounded him as Ron looked at his hands. The rain turned the blood pink as it pooled off his palms and dropped to the muddy ground, erasing all his sins in the process. He tilted his head up, letting the icy down pour cool the raging adrenaline rush that was still pumping through his veins. God, it was nights like this that he hated being an Auror.
The Death Eaters were gone. They'd Disapparated away, leaving only their fallen mate behind. Ron was alone. He was sent on this mission strictly for surveillance purposes and it only took one man to do that. It was just his rotten luck to have been found out. As Ron stood there getting soaked to the bone, shivering, he realized that he couldn't Disapparate. His shoulder was killing him. It could very likely be broken. He was just too drained. He'd splinch himself for sure.
Quickly he took in his surroundings, forcing his brain to remember where he was. Maybe there was a wizard home near by. He'd be able to use their fire to floo home. He certainly couldn't stay out in this rain all night; he'd catch his death.
He relaxed a little when he noted that he wasn't far from Harry's cabin. The gods were smiling on him a little after all. He wouldn't have to bother anyone. It was quite late, almost midnight by Ron's guess. Harry never used that old cabin, the only reason he bought it was to get away when he was on holiday from work, but the problem was, Harry never went on holiday. The place had about a year's worth of dust the last time Ron had saw it and that'd been a while ago.
He set out, dreading over a mile walk in the rain, and cold rain at that. It was really his only option. So he set out, thinking about the store of Fire Whiskey Harry always kept there, willing his feet to move despite his body's protests.
He had to light his wand once he got to the woods; the moon provided little light, especially with the storm that thundered around him. Every once in a while the forest would glow brightly for a spilt second as lighting flashed, but other than that, it was just the single beam from his wand glowing as he walked past the trees and shadows.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the gray outline of the cabin. He considered kipping there for the night, but really, it was a bit rustic for Ron's tastes. He preferred his nice, modern flat. He'd never understand Harry, all that money and he buys rickety old cabins in the woods. His best mate was becoming a right eccentric in his old age.
Once Ron got closer, he noticed that the windows glowed from candle light inside. He frowned as he got continued to walk nearer. He knew Harry was gone on a mission, and Ron was quite certain that Harry wasn't anywhere near. The hairs on the back of his neck rose in defensiveness. Two years of training and five years of being one of the top Aurors in the ministry made him more than a little jumpy. He didn't like that someone was staying in a cabin no one was supposed to know existed. In fact, Ron was almost sure that Harry had cast glamour spells on it so that only a select few people in Harry's inner circle could actually see it to begin with. He wanted to know who was in there.
Despite his shoulder that was throbbing in pain, and the icy rain that had long since chilled him to the bone, Ron pushed forward, moving stealthily through the trees until he was close enough to look in, but still remain hidden in the shadows.
He noted that whomever was staying there had cleaned it up. Curtains hung in windows that had once been bare, and from what Ron could see there was no dust anywhere. It looked almost immaculate, quaint and kind of feminine, definitely not something Harry would do. Suddenly, realization hit him. Ice flooded Ron's veins, and it had nothing to do with the rain, he stumbled and backed against the tree, knowing who was in there before she appeared.
And she did appear.
He watched her come from kitchen, a cup of tea in her hand, her long curly hair tied in a loose bun with curls springing free all over the place. She had on a simple white nightdress, very conservative, very her. Even so, in the light, he could almost swear he was seeing the outline of her breasts through the light cotton, the faint darkness of her nipples, puckered from the cold evening.
No, he was filling that in himself. His mind was playing tricks on him due to cold, and pain, and loneliness. God, he missed her. He missed her everyday. No woman, nameless or not, could replace her. He'd tried, he really had, but it just didn't work. One night with Hermione had ruined him for life, and he'd give just about anything to take it back. Yet, even as he thought that, his mind flooded with memories. He could still feel her naked body against his, her hands fisted in his hair, clinging to him for dear life, as she called out his name in broken sobs.
He hadn't meant for it to happen. He'd wanted nothing more than to offer her a shoulder to cry on, to give her some small bit of comfort while she mourned for her parents, but something had happened and even now he had no idea what. One minute Ron had been holding her, crying with her, feeling his heart break over the pain she was in and the next she was kissing him. Her lips were soft and wet against his, salty from the tears that were still flowing down her face. Then her hands were on him, touching him, running underneath his jumper to come in contact with naked flesh. Her voice had been low and pleading against his ear, begging him to make the pain stop, to let her feel something, anything but what she was feeling now.
It had been far too much for a seventeen year-old boy to handle. He'd spent the better part of three years fantasizing about her, and there she was, begging him, Ron Weasley, to make love to her. He couldn't have turned her away even if he'd wanted to. He would have done anything for her at that moment.
He still couldn't decide if the sacrifice had been worth it. He had eased her pain for a bit, but in the morning things had been awkward. He had felt guilty, thinking he'd taken advantage of her. That night had been the best moment of his life, but it had happened because Hermione's parents had been brutally murdered by Death Eaters. It made him feel terrible, and it was made worse by Hermione. She had avoided him after that, never really looking him in the eye. They were polite to each other, never arguing, never bantering, and never laughing.
Ron had hated it. It made him miserable. All that was dear to him was dead, devoid of passion. He'd rather stay away, than just pretend that it hadn't happened. It broke his heart to hear Hermione's voice dull and impassive as she spoke to him.
It had been over seven years since he saw her. They'd separated after school, with Harry and Ron going into Auror training and Hermione working for the Department of Mysteries, doing what, he never knew. She traveled a lot and had actually ended up being stationed in France the last Ron had heard. Harry kept in touch with her, but he seldom mentioned her to Ron, somehow knowing that it was too painful for him to hear, even if he didn't really know the details of their rift between the two of them.
And now, there she was, looking just as beautiful as he had remembered, even more so. From the distance it seemed her features had softened with adulthood. Her hair was darker, and looked slightly tamer, but it was up, so he could be wrong. Her figure was a little rounder, more womanly, rather than holding the last few angles of childhood like it had when he'd been with her. She was still short, slim and elegant in her own way. He was in love with her, the distance hadn't changed anything, and that terrified him. He was seriously considering just staying out in the rain that was still freezing, still soaking him to the bone, when he saw her turn to look out the window. Her eyes narrowed to peer through the murky wet darkness, and then widened. Ron cursed out loud when he realized that his wand was still lit. He'd been distracted and forgot all about it. Some Auror he was.
Hermione moved toward the door and Ron extinguished his wand before she could see who it was outside her window. He moved to hide behind the tree when the door opened and Hermione looked out, holding a hand over her head to keep her hair dry as she called out.
"Ron?"